


Pierced

by vatrixsta



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, cscocktoberfest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatrixsta/pseuds/vatrixsta
Summary: Killian needs something done in a very sensitive area. Emma does that. Mature mostly for language and potential future smuttyness. For CScocktoberfest





	1. Chapter 1

Emma Swan had three rules: 

1\. Don’t get attached. The clients treated her like a bartender while she was inking and piercing, using their captive position as a free therapy session. Emma let them and usually pocketed a nice tip for her trouble. She did not share in return.  
2\. No repeat business. No matter how much they loved her work, Emma Swan originals were just that - original. No second piercing or second piece of art ever decorated her clients. If they wanted more, she sent them to Ruby, who wiggled and leaned and fawned just enough that, male or female, they forgot all about the prickly blonde with the steady hand.  
3\. Never fuck the clients. Ever. 

Ruby was determined to test her on the last one - always trying to foist the really hot ones off on her. Happily committed to half a dozen regular paramours of varying genders, Ruby was determined to set up Emma -- who was admittedly going through the dry spot to end all dry spots -- with a Sex God. 

Single moms with precocious six year olds did not have time for Sex Gods. 

“Emma! You’ve got a hottie out front.” 

Cue the Sex God of the day. Emma rolled her eyes -- according to Ruby, half the schlubs who came in for piercings and tattoos were “hotties.” Quickly stripping off the rubber cleaning gloves and checking to make sure there were no dirt smudges on her face, Emma deemed herself presentable enough to cut it for their usual clientele. Pushing through the back room doors to the front of the tattoo parlor she’d worked at for nearly four years, Emma shot Ruby her third unimpressed look of the day.

Ruby just grinned and pointed at a guy who was clearly nervous but trying very hard to hide it under a mile of bravado. Her theory was confirmed when she actually managed to startle him when she got close enough to introduce herself. 

“Woah there, settle down, buddy,” Emma said, hands up in supplication. “I’m Emma.”

“Killian. Pleasure,” he muttered and his voice was pleasantly accented. He plastered what was obviously a forced - but still vaguely charming - smile on his face. She took quick inventory and mentally gave Ruby credit - hottie didn’t really do him justice. His scruff was almost--but not quite--a beard, his eyes were the kind of blue she tried--and failed--to mix the inks to make when she had make an ocean wave on someone and she kind of wanted to bite his jaw. Shit. 

“Can I help you?” she asked slowly, desperately trying to keep her face and voice impassive. Luckily his nerves were bad enough that he didn’t seem to be picking up on her embarrassingly obvious attraction. 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Look. I have to get a… a piercing.” 

Emma nodded slowly. She did tats normally, but Ruby had called her out here for good reason - she was the steadiest hand they had at piercings. It was what had landed her the job in the first place. 

“What kind of piercing are you interested in?” she asked.

“I’m not interested in a single bloody one,” he muttered, more under his breath than at her, but she heard him loud and clear. 

“Look buddy, I don’t have time for this.” In point of fact, she actually did -- the shop was always dead on weekday afternoons and she’d been in the back scrubbing the outsides of the goddamn ink bottles for something to do, but she didn’t feel like babysitting some wanker who had no idea what he wanted - no matter how hot he was.

“I lost a bet,” he said as she turned away, almost as if the words were being pulled from him unwillingly. “I lost a bet,” he repeated, arms spread in a placating gesture. “My partner and I have had this… series of escalating wagers. He lost the last one and though he begged me to let him off, I told him a deal was a deal and a man’s character is only as good as his word so he was going to have to walk naked into that Applebees, consequences be damned. After I posted his bail, he proposed this bet and I admit I only accepted because I didn’t think I’d lose. So far we’ve kept permanent alterations off the table, but as I was completely insufferable about his fate, mine is to now spend this afternoon with you, having some kind of barbell shoved into the shaft of my cock or I will lose all credibility until the end of time and I’m fairly sure breaking my word is worse than whatever I’m about to have you do to me.” 

Emma blinked. That had been a lot of information to get in sixty seconds. But her brain was stuck on the part of it that related to her job. “Did he really specify the shaft?” 

The man shook his head a little in befuddlement. “What?” 

“I mean,” she said slowly, “that there are several different types of genital piercings that involve the penis. If we’ve got some wiggle room on this, I’d recommend the dydoe. It rests parallel to the shaft and it has the shortest healing window. It’s also the least painful of the cock piercings you can get.” 

He gulped. “How long is the shortest healing window?” 

“About three months,” she answered. 

“Three months,” he repeated slowly. “Are there any, erm… restrictions or activities that I should refrain from engaging in, or perhaps avoid certain aspects of--”

“You should avoid getting hard if you can and friction of any kind is off the table,” Emma said flatly. “So you’re gonna have to prepare your girlfriend and keep your right hand to yourself.”

“No girlfriend,” he said. “Unless you count my right hand, which, to be honest, I’ve started to the last few months.” 

Emma stifled a laugh at the self deprecating tone. “Let’s look at some of the pictures I’ve got, assuming you’re man enough to flip through a book of cocks with me.” 

A different sort of glimmer came into his eyes then. She didn’t like it one bit, mostly because she liked it a lot. 

“I’ve never met a lass with a whole book of cocks before,” he confided and it was so ridiculous, but he seemed to know it and said it anyway which made her stifle another laugh. He did NOT need to know she found him charming. 

They flipped through the book. As she explained the procedure to him and assured him it wasn’t an ordeal, the way a tattoo was, he started to calm down and engage more with the process. He asked questions about some of the piercings and Emma explained that she didn’t like to use too large of a gauge because you wanted to leave enough room for the skin to stretch and engorge when it became erect. If you miscalculated it was disastrous. She promised him she never miscalculated. 

Killian’s interest piqued again when she explained that some men received sexual pleasure from the piercings themselves, but most of it was actually mental because depending on the position used, the piercing actually increased the pleasure for their partner. 

“Know that from experience, lass?” he asked, eyebrow raised at a ridiculous arch. Again, she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be turned on. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she murmured.

“Perhaps I would,” he said seriously. 

She cleared her throat. “So, Mr. Man of His Word - are we doing this?” 

“We are,” he confirmed. “I trust you, Emma,” he added, the sincerity in his words doing something to her very different - and so, so much worse - than all the rest. 

Emma pushed it away, because these sort of feelings were breaking the spirit behind every rule on her list but also because he trusted her and there was no way she was going to perform this procedure even remotely distracted, even if he was the cause of her distraction. 

“Take off your pants,” she said, tone all business. 

She readied her station for him, pulling the privacy screen around them like she always did for anyone having work done in a sensitive area. 

“Erm,” he said, “how should I…?” 

She gave him a gentle smile, because stripping was usually when the nerves came back to most clients. “You don’t really have to take them all the way off unless you want to make sure nothing gets on your pants. There’s a lot of capillaries in the genitals, which is part of why they’re so sensitive - but that also means there’s a fair bit of blood and if you’re faint at all--”

“Blood doesn’t bother me,” he said dismissively. 

She narrowed her eyes playfully as she laid out the supplies she’d need on the little medical table next to her station. “Are you a serial killer or something?” 

He snickered. “No, the opposite actually.” Off her look, he elaborated, “I’m a profiler. I work out of the precinct down the street. We’ve pass by here every day - I’m sure that’s what put the idea in Robin’s head, the git.” 

Emma did not need to know the hottest man alive was located less than a block from where she worked. 

Snapping on a pair of gloves, Emma gave a glare that was only slightly real when Killian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. She was glad he was still in a good mood. His nerves seemed to have faded the more they talked about the procedure - he wasn’t squeamish, which helped, no more so than most men were when their first foray into piercings involved their precious manhood. 

He’d chosen a dark onyx barbell that looked like something better suited to a pirate than a profiler. Emma had never felt one way or another about piercings--she didn’t have any herself, just a few tattoos--but she had to admit, as she started the procedure, that he was probably going to preen even more than he already did, because he was going to look fuckhot with it. 

Once the bleeding was under control (true to his word, Killian wasn’t squeamish and the towels she’d laid out protected his pants, which he’d only opened far enough to give her access) she wrapped him in gauze and told him to suit back up. 

Emma had created aftercare instructions for her clients with genital piercings because she didn’t like the thought of something she’d done causing a trip to the emergency room because someone was too woozy from blood loss to pay attention to the care instructions she’d given. 

Killian thanked her for making the process as painless as possible, holding out his hand after he’d given Ruby his credit card. Emma offered hers for a shake and had to hold back a gasp when he brought her knuckles to his mouth and pressed what she could only call an ardent kiss there and who the fuck even was this guy, seriously? 

“Truly,” he said, stupid blue eyes bright and earnest and fuck, “thank you, Emma.” 

“Oh, shoot, there’s a problem with your card,” Ruby very obviously lied. Emma glared at her but Ruby avoided eye contact. “It’s probably the system, let me just run in back real quick.”

Emma realized he still held her hand, that they were basically holding hands at this point, and quickly pulled it back. “Remember to follow the cleaning instructions and you know, no masturbating,” she muttered like the social reject she was.

He was grinning at her, though, like he found her interesting and charming. “I was thinking… next to your little book of cocks, there was a lovely book of artwork open,” he said. “Yours as well?” 

“Yeah,” Emma said. “I actually, um, specialize in the art.”

He reached out and brushed his thumb over the buttercup on the back of her wrist. “Your design?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Emma repeated, feeling her brain get stupider and stupider the longer he touched her or looked straight into her eyes like that. Seriously no one maintained eye contact like this, it wasn’t right or fair or anything.

“It’s lovely,” he said. “It’s simple, but it conveys a feeling when I look at it.”

“What feeling?” she asked. 

“Hope,” he answered. “I think you were perhaps very, very sad when you drew that. But there’s hope in that sadness.” 

Emma’s eyes widened. There was nothing sad or hopeful about her buttercup to look at it, it was a fucking buttercup, how the hell did he know she got it done a few months after Henry was born, when she was afraid she’d made a mistake keeping him, that she wasn’t what was best for him and she was wrecking his life by making the selfish choice to raise him. There were buttercups blooming outside the shitty building they lived in and she swore if they all died over the harsh winter, as they were destined to, she would do it, she’d give him up to someone who wasn’t eighteen and barely scraping by waiting tables. 

They did all die. Except for one. The one she drew on a napkin from the shitty diner she worked at. The one she put on her wrist the day she promised she would never give him up, that she would be what was best for him no matter what it took.

A month later she met Ruby and got a job cleaning the parlour and shadowing the old artist. When Mulan and Ruby broke up, Mulan left Emma a lot of supplies and told her she had a good eye and a steady hand. That fucking buttercup was the first tattoo Emma put on anyone. She saw its flaws sometimes, but every time she looked at it, all she could remember was how much she loved her kid and how she couldn’t imagine life without him. 

“You all right, luv?” Killian asked softly.

“Fine,” she said automatically, voice stilted as she tucked her wrist behind her back. “I’m fine. This was my first tattoo,” she added, and why the fuck would she say that. 

“As I said: it’s lovely,” he repeated. “I’d like something with the same sort of emotion. I’ve had an idea for awhile, but never found the exact right thing. Would you…”

“If you tell me what you want and why, I can sketch a few ideas,” Emma said, only that was impossible, because she was breaking Rule #2 and maybe a little bit Rule #1 because whatever Killian wanted, she suddenly knew she was going to spend hours until she got it exactly right, until it looked exactly like he felt about it. 

“Perhaps we could discuss it over lunch,” he offered. “Tomorrow?” 

No. I’m busy. I’m working. I don’t eat lunch. I have a kid. I don’t date. You’re gonna break my fucking heart. 

“Sure,” she said, her brain no longer in control of her decisions. “Tomorrow.” 

His smile was like the sun came out.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it's official - this is now a WIP! Thanks @csmarchmadness for the gun to the head of getting the second chapter out - I guess I'll have to actually do it ON MY OWN from here on out (cry, tremble, moan) but I have really exciting ideas for this, so I'm looking forward to it! I hope you all enjoy and come along for the ride :)

Emma had to cancel this date that was absolutely  _ not _ a date. 

 

There was just no possible way it was a good idea, date or no date. Not only were his eyes too blue and his smile too bright and his hands too… perfect when they touched hers, but she wouldn’t even be able to ruin it quickly by sleeping with him too fast because of the fucking piercing  _ she _ gave him.

 

She was feeding Henry an incredibly nutritious dinner of Spaghettios and carrot sticks (he was going through a phase where he hated basically everything and at least she was still getting carrot sticks past his rapidly shrinking palette) when she realized that she didn’t actually have Killian’s number and would have to figure something out tomorrow, maybe ask Ruby to run interference. Except Ruby wouldn’t, the whore, because she wanted Emma to make nice with the Sex God. 

 

She was making sure Henry took a bath (six year old boys would pay almost any price to continue smelling like street urchins, she’d found) when it occurred to her that despite his flirtations, it was possible  _ he _ didn’t intend for it to be a date. Maybe he really did just want her to design a tattoo for him and he was pleased with her professionalism and artwork. God that would be embarrassing, if she told him she couldn’t go out with him and he basically responded with, who asked you? 

 

She was halfway through reading Henry his favorite book of fairy tales when she realized all the princes (and a few of the pirates) suddenly had blue eyes and British accents in her head and you know what, that’s enough for tonight, Henry, light’s out and I’ll see you in the morning, love bug. 

 

She was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she remembered he’d had to fill out the consent form for the procedure and would have had to put his number on there. If she got to work early enough, she could go into the client files she wasn’t supposed to snoop in unless an actual emergency occurred and tell him she was dying or moving to Yemen or anything that would stop this train before it ran straight over her heart. 

 

She was waking up with a groan and Henry’s knee connecting with her pelvis when she realized that the idea of canceling this date that was definitely, absolutely not a date actually bummed her out. It was  _ lunch _ and he was  _ nice _ . She could design a tattoo for him -- he’d tipped her  _ extremely _ well for the piercing -- and maybe finally be able to afford that new video game console upgrade Henry had been not so subtly hinting at for Christmas, which meant there were only fifty-two more shopping days until Black Friday. 

 

She was walking Henry to the school bus, teasing him about the crush he had on a little blonde girl his age that he swore was  _ not _ a crush at all, that they were going to be best friends forever and she just wanted to kiss his his precious little cheek so she did, glad that he only scrunched his face a little in distaste, when she seriously considered that she might be losing her mind. It wasn’t normal to think about someone you’d just met this much, to obsess over a virtual stranger (if you could consider someone whose cock you’d pierced with a 12 gauge barbell a  _ stranger _ ) to this degree. She definitely, absolutely had to cancel. 

 

“His paperwork? Oh, yeah, I threw it out. I was drinking coffee while I filed last night and, well. Oopsie.”

 

Fucking Ruby. 

 

Sending her friend and boss a glare that clearly communicated I  _ do not believe you, you lying whore _ and glaring harder when Ruby’s unrepentant grin widened, Emma left the back office area and stomped over to her station for the only therapeutic option left to her: sketching. 

 

The small notebook she used was the ninth of its kind since she’d started working at Red, White and Tattoo. She kept them all, tucked behind her little book of cocks, as Killian had referred to it (OHMYGOD STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!!!) and filled with some sketches that had turned into elaborate pieces that decorated backs and wrists and ankles and every other body part conceivable to little half finished works she’d never fully cracked. There were also incredibly personal drawings she’d asked Ruby to ink on her own skin -- Emma had done the buttercup herself, but it was a process she’d rather not repeat. 

 

Killian had said he’d be by to collect her at 12:30. It was currently 10:00 and Emma was praying someone would take advantage of the early bird special so she’d have something else to focus on. 

 

After straightening up her station (twice) and sketching an elaborate oceanscape (she refused to actually color it; she knew the waves would match his eyes as well as her supplies could manage she did not need this fuckery) Emma was ready to crawl out of her skin, pissed at herself and Killian for getting her into this state. This was why she had her rules! This was why the last date she’d gone on had been a hit it and quit it one night stand with the dorky guy who’d sold them the front desk display case. That had been... three years ago? Oh, Christ. No wonder she was insane now. 

 

Killian was thoughtfully fifteen minutes early, as he if he could sense his date was crawling out of her skin. He entered the shop with that wide, easy smile on his face and Emma forced a smile of her own that she hoped didn’t look too forced, because she didn’t want him to take her jittery mood personally even though it was 100% his fault. 

 

Ushering them quickly out the door (she didn’t want to risk another embarrassing moment with Ruby playing the world’s most obvious matchmaker) Emma asked where they were eating.

 

“There’s a place I like to go, down by the water,” he said, adorably rubbing at the back of his right ear. “It’s probably the last of the nice weather for the year so I thought we could walk?” 

 

“Sure,” Emma said, stuffing her hands in her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid like reach for his. 

 

They fell into a slightly awkward silence that actually should have been a lot more awkward, given they didn’t know each other too well. 

 

“Robin - my partner? - he was shocked speechless I actually went through with it,” Killian said after a few quiet minutes. 

 

“Are you following the after care instructions?” Emma said, probably a lot more sternly than was necessary. 

 

“Yes, Mistress,” Killian teased. 

 

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many people blow it off,” she muttered. “An infected piercing is never fun. An infected  _ genital _ piercing?” 

 

“Emma, you have my word that I shall heed your every instruction,” he said, both teasing and serious at the same time. How did he  _ do _ that? 

 

They arrived at a seafood place Emma had been dying to try but always found other uses for her paycheck - luxuries like new winter boots for Henry and electricity. 

 

“Um, this place is a little fancy,” she said, looking down at her work outfit of dark wash denim jeans, white tank top and red leather jacket. 

 

Killian indicated his own attire - black jeans that were a little less tight than the ones he’d worn yesterday (a good sign he  _ was _ obeying her instructions), a dark blue t-shirt and a black leather jacket of his own that looked more suited to riding a motorcycle than catching criminals, but what did she know? 

 

“Casual dress at lunch,” he assured her. “To die for lobster rolls.” 

 

Emma mentally calculated how much a lobster roll would set back her food budget as Killian placed his hand on her lower back and urged her into the restaurant. 

 

She was going to have to make a rule about him not being allowed to touch her because her brain short circuited and she suddenly couldn’t recall what a budget was or how one accommodated for it. 

 

They were seated at a table by the water and the view really was spectacular, the horizon a calming sight Emma was desperately in need of. Killian had good table manners (because of course he did), filling her water glass from the bottle their server left on the table before he attended to his own, confirming with her that the lobster roll sounded good (it really, really, really did) before ordering for them both. He added a pitcher of fresh blueberry lemonade for them to split, promising her it was not to be missed. Emma’s eyes bugged at the prices but she decided to give herself this afternoon with an unfairly attractive man who genuinely seemed to like her and wanted her to eat lobster rolls with him. There was plenty of time for reality to come crashing down when she couldn’t smell the sea and watch the flickers of sunlight play in Killian’s eyes the exact same way it did on the waves. 

 

She tried this once, the dating someone new thing. Neal had pretty much decimated the part of her brain (and her heart) capable of trusting, but she thought, maybe there was a guy out there who’d remind her they weren’t all like Neal. (Never mind that she still remembered what it had been like at the start, her and him against the world, the mischievous flicker in Henry’s eyes reminding her that she could never really hate him the way she wanted to, because the best parts of him were like a gift every time she looked at her little boy.) 

 

Once she got settled into work at the tattoo shop, she’d gone on a few dates, Ruby and Mulan eagerly offering to babysit toddler Henry. There had been five - maybe six? - guys total and every single one of them had been visibly deflated by the news that the hot 20-year-old blonde had a kid at home. Though the one she disliked the most had been the guy who’d feigned interest in Henry so he could sleep with her. 

 

Emma realized that she really wasn’t looking forward to watching that disappointment cross Killian’s face. No one expected the hot (now 24) year old blonde who worked at the tattoo shop to have a kid. She suspected Killian was a little older than her (she’d have put him around 30 given his job and the slight laugh lines around his eyes) but she knew a single mom wasn’t exactly a highly sought dating prospect. She just felt shitty  _ not _ telling him about Henry, when he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, just so she could, what? Enjoy a hot guy eating a lobster roll?

 

Yeah, okay, so maybe a little bit that. Besides, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. He didn’t need to know about her life because this was a friendly meal and she was supposed to be asking him about his tattoo not picturing him naked (and she could. From the waist down, at least, all dark hair and lean muscle and definitely a shower, not a grower--STOP IT EMMA) and nervously peeling a bread roll. 

 

“Luv?”

 

Emma blinked. “Sorry, what?”

 

Killian smiled, but it was a little forced. “I, uh, suppose you were woolgathering.” 

 

Great and now she’d been so lost in her social anxiety that she’d completely missed him speaking to her. If this were a date, she’d have pretty much blown it. 

 

“I don’t get much time out by the water,” she said a little lamely. “I don’t get much time out, period,” she added ruefully.

 

“Workaholic?” he asked. 

 

“Sort of,” she hedged. She took a lot of shifts at work to earn enough money to keep her and Henry far from the poorhouse. Ruby’s grandmother lived in the same building and watched Henry after school most days. She also let him stay over when the shop stayed open late on the weekends. There was a little sleeping bag zone in back dubbed Henry’s corner that he’d filled with books and toys and the oldest of his handheld video games. “What about you?” 

 

There, that was nice and sociable. 

 

“I enjoy my work,” Killian said. “But I have other… priorities that keep me from the workaholic label. Which, I suppose, brings us nicely to the subject of this lunch.” 

 

Right. Not a date. He wanted a tattoo and she’d broken Rule #2 for him. 

 

She gave him a professional smile. “Tell me a little bit about what you’re looking for.” 

 

His lips pursed in thought for a moment, then he shrugged. “I suppose that’s part of the problem. I know what I want it to convey and I know the meaning behind it, but I’m not sure I know what symbol will best represent it to permanently ink on my body.” 

 

Her smile turned a little more personal, because she could relate. Her buttercup was easy - the other tattoos she’d had were a little less… on the nose and direct. It had taken her months to settle on them. “Why don’t we try this. Tell me why you want it and some of the ideas you’ve had and I’ll do my job to get you some sketches to narrow it down.” 

 

He puffed his cheeks out like an adorable chipmunk with no idea how attractive it was. Damn it, she was so screwed. 

 

“Brilliant.” He reached into a satchel and pulled out an old, battered copy of Peter Pan, then set it before her almost reverently.

 

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Big fan?”

 

His smile widened. “My brother and I read the tale a great deal during our childhood - he’s older, so some of my earliest memories are the little crush he always had on Wendy Darling.” 

 

Emma laughed. “And you?” 

 

Killian shrugged. “I’ve always preferred the company of real women.” 

 

“Yeah, that’s just about what I’d figure you’d say,” she muttered. Damn chipmunk knew exactly how attractive he was.

 

“Though I confess, the last few years, there’s really only been the one woman in my life,” he added. 

 

That confession definitely gave Emma pause. If he had a girlfriend -- a steady one at that -- it meant this was definitely just a business thing and she was suddenly mortified at the idea that she’d tried to call off a date that wasn’t even a date. That was what mortification felt like, right? That vice like grip around her heart that felt like disappointment and the death of some possibility, some flutter of  _ perhaps _ when you met someone new? 

 

“And is that lucky lady the other inspiration for the tattoo?” Emma asked, swallowing down the disappointment - because that was exactly what it was. She should have been used to it by now.

 

His smile didn’t widen - it  _ glowed _ . Emma kind of wanted to vomit, which was perfect timing, because the lobster rolls were delivered by their efficient but discreet waiter. The blueberry lemonade  _ was _ spectacular, too, damn the charming chipmunk who was obviously not available. 

 

He’d said he was though, hadn’t he? When they’d been talking about his after care for the piercing? She could have sworn he’d said he didn’t have to worry about any sexual partners! She wasn’t so delusional that she’d made that up. 

 

She was about to open her mouth and say something stupid and accusatory like how dare you get a single mom’s hopes up even though I’m not really interested because I’m an emotional cripple, but seriously how dare you sir - when his phone went off. 

 

“Damn it,” he muttered as he stared down at a text. “I’m so sorry, it’s an emergency at work - please, enjoy the food and feel free to wrap mine up and take it with you.” He was waving the waiter down and scrolling through his phone. “Are you busy tomorrow night? A mate of mine is playing at a pub and I promised I’d go, but we can discuss this a bit more then. I’ll be much less likely to be called in at night, as well.” He shot her a charming grin and she was so dazzled that she forgot all her questions and simply rattled off her phone number. He responded by sending her two emojis, one that was lifting its eyebrow and the other giving her a cheesy grin. 

 

Seriously, who the hell did he think he was? 

 

Then he was gone and a few seconds later she got another text with an address and the time of 7:30, tomorrow night. 

 

She was going to have to ask Granny to watch Henry, because apparently she was a total idiot for this guy. He’d left the copy of Peter Pan so at the very least she’d need to return it to him, since it meant so much. 

 

When the waiter returned to ask if she’d like anything else, Emma had another moment of panic - she was going to have to pay for  _ both _ of their lobster rolls. But when she said she’d only like to go containers and a check, the waiter said Killian had taken care of the bill on his way out.

 

Sneaky, multitasking little profiler - Emma took a grudging bite of her lobster roll, then couldn’t quite muffle an involuntary moan. It was amazing and she wasn’t above gloating a little that she would get to have his for dinner. He may have a girlfriend that was getting a loving and thoughtful tattoo out of him (even though she could have  _ sworn _ he said he didn’t have one) but Emma could re-prioritize. She could enjoy spending some time with a very attractive man who was apparently willing to buy her delicious food in exchange for said time while she got to design a beautiful piece of art for him. 

 

That was the definition of win-win. 

 

So why did she feel vaguely shitty about the whole thing? 

 

She texted him back anyway, with a thumbs up emoji. Then she started flipping through Peter Pan while she carefully kept her lobster roll hand separate from her page turning one. 

 

Another text dinged on her phone. Killian - yes, she’d added him to her contacts, so what, shut up.

 

_ Great! Really sorry I had to run out on you - I should warn you, this does tend to happen a fair bit. So please don’t take it personally - you are as lovely and charming as a bloke could hope for and I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. _

 

Seriously, who texted like that? Who had a right to be so thoughtful and flirty but not over the line flirty and perfect and apparently have a girlfriend even though he  _ definitely _ said he did  _ not _ have one?! 

 

Emma took an angry bite of her lobster roll. 

 

And responded with another thumbs up text. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really enjoying this, so I may continue it, but marking complete for now because this was what originally popped into my head.


End file.
